


as cold as ice

by rosytonics



Series: the defenders' messy holiday extravaganza [4]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Ice Skating, Kid Fic, wintery tenderness and self-indulgent schmoop tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 00:12:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosytonics/pseuds/rosytonics
Summary: Misty links her arm with his. Her free hand comes to his forehead and brushes his bangs from his forehead. He winces when her fingertips press lightly around a lumpy bruise growing above his eyebrow. “Ooh, that looks bad. I’m not sure if you’re gonna live.” Her smile only grows as her hand drifts down to stroke his cheek. “You’re pathetic, Danny Rand, and I love you.”Or, the one where the Immortal Iron Fist can do anything but ice skate.





	as cold as ice

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! yes!! i am here with another holiday fic!i can't believe christmas eve is tomorrow! i hope everyone who celebrates has a great christmas, and that those who don't still have a great day! i've never written danny and misty before, but i've always loved their relationship in the comics and wish they'd have put it in the shows! i feel like this ship is often slept on, so i'm very excited to share this! 
> 
> please enjoy, and happy winter!

He doesn’t like to brag, but there are a lot of really, really cool things that Danny Rand can do. Concentrating all of his body’s energy into his fist and plowing it through walls is just one of them. He can also do backflips, and make a pretty mean stack of French toast under the right conditions. He can do almost anything, except—

 

“ _Oof!_ ” 

 

Ice skate. 

 

Misty doesn’t even bother to politely cover her mouth, and instead laughs openly in his face as he slides on his stomach across the ice for the fourth time. “When you said you “weren’t great” at this, I didn’t think you’d be _this_ bad!” She grins and leans down to offer him her hand. “Need some help, O powerful Iron Fist?” Snorting out a laugh, she plants her other hand on her hip. “This is _so_ tragic.” 

 

Danny lifts his head with a frustrated grunt and plants his hands on the ice. “I’m gonna punch it,” he mutters, flexing his fingers, “I’m gonna punch the ice.” Wincing, he pushes himself up onto his knees and grabs onto Misty’s hand for extra support. Beneath the woolen glove, her vibranium fingers clench around his. Danny loves this arm. He loves every part of Misty, from head to toe, but there’s something so _special_ and _intimate_ about providing someone with an entire body part without expecting anything in return. It’s like if he’d given her his kidney. 

 

Misty hoists him back up without even an _ounce_ of effort. She gives a full, bouncy laugh as he immediately latches onto the wall. “Are you scared? It’s just a little ice. Look at Lucy, she’s a natural.” 

 

Their six year-old daughter gives Danny a wave from the other side of the rink and weaves her way through skating traffic. She pulls up next to him and drags to a stop, drifting into his side. Immediately, her arms wrap around him and she looks up with a wide smile. “Hi, Daddy. Did you see me? I went _so fast_!” She takes his hand and gives it a tug. “Come on! Go across with me!” 

 

Danny’s grip on the wall doesn’t let up, but his feet find themselves drifting across the ice in Lucy’s direction. His arm stretches as the combined weight of their bodies pulls him towards the center of the rink. It’s basic physics. An object in motion (Danny’s clumsy ass) will stay in motion (sliding across the ice) unless acted upon by an outside force (slamming into another person, or—hopefully—the wall on the other side of the rink). He attempts to scramble back towards the wall, but it’s too late. He’s officially free range. 

 

Look out, Rockefeller center. 

 

“Hey, Luce?” he asks warily, wobbling after her as she gracefully glides from one end of the rink to the other. Skating should be just like walking, and yet every time Danny attempts to lift his leg and take a step, he loses his balance a little more. “Lucy, honey? Do you maybe wanna slow dow”— 

 

Unstoppable force, meet unmoving object. 

 

Before he can take out a group of unsuspecting teenage skaters, Misty appears at Danny’s side and digs her skates into the ice, skidding them both to a halt. 

 

“Hi,” she greets as he collides with her shoulder. 

 

Danny grabs onto her, and tries to make it look suave, and totally _not_ like he’s clinging to her for dear life. “Hey.”He clumsily tucks his face into her neck and presses a kiss there. “Thanks for coming to the rescue.” 

 

“You know I’ve always got your back.”Misty links her arm with his. Her free hand comes to his forehead and brushes his bangs from his forehead. He winces when her fingertips press lightly around a lumpy bruise growing above his eyebrow. “Ooh, that looks bad. I’m not sure if you’re gonna live.” Her smile only grows as her hand drifts down to stroke his cheek. “You’re pathetic, Danny Rand, and I love you.” 

 

Danny risks losing his balance again to take her hand and kiss it. “Gee, Detective Knight,” he teases, “You have such a way with words.” He wobbles a little on his skates as he drifts in front of her, and if he grips her waist a little too tightly in order to keep them both upright, so be it. Fat, fluffy snowflakes land in the soft, dark coils of her hair, dusting her head and shoulders with powdered sugar. Danny hovers in her space, admiring her. 

 

Sometimes he wakes up in total disbelief. He’ll roll over in the middle of the night, waking because of a crappy dream, or having to pee, and as soon as he opens his eyes, a giddy feeling fills him from head to toe. Every cell in his body _vibrates_ as they sing out _“This is my wife! This is my wife, and she’s beautiful, and I love her!”_ After he meditates on the living room floor or takes a leak, he usually peeks into Lucy’s room to check on her. That same feeling—like champagne bubbles and pop rocks—crackles inside him and he thinks _“I have a daughter, and she’s perfect, and I love her so much!”_ And sometimes, when the snow falls just _perfectly_ onto Misty’s hair, and the twinkling lights wrapped around the trees catch her eyes _just like this_ , Danny can’t think anything at all. His brain just goes blissfully empty. 

 

All he feels is home. 

 

They tilt forward to meet each other halfway—just like they always do, because they’re a team, because they’re _the_ team—and their lips brush. Misty’s smile curves against Danny’s. She mumbles something almost too quiet to hear, but he hopes it’s _I love you_. 

 

If it’s not, then he’s about to look like a big idiot, because all he has to say as he kisses her again is “I love you too.” 

 

“INCOMING!” 

 

Their foreheads bonk together as a sudden rallying cry rips them out of the moment. Before they can fully register what’s going on, Lucy _plows_ into them head-on, her arms flying out like a flying squirrel landing for a hug. It sends the three of them tumbling down into a dog pile. Lucy’s knee collides with Danny’s gut, which feels _great_ , and the back of his head thunks onto the ice again. 

 

Groaning, he folds himself into a sitting position and rubs his head. “Everyone okay?” 

 

Lucy looks at him with wide, warm brown eyes, and then erupts into giggles. 

 

Naturally, it’s totally contagious. 


End file.
